The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (32 page)

“Yes,” she replied. “We wil have this forever.”

Seven

How Morrígan wished those words had been true. They did have several wonderful years together, happy and carefree years, before the taint of anger and betrayal touched them.

Before each battle Morrígan would come to him. They would spend hours making love, Cul en eager to learn everything she could teach him. Afterwards, while he slept, Morrígan would drag one sharp, black fingernail across her wrist and spil a few drops of her precious blood into his mouth. Her blood made him strong and she made him fearless. He went into each battle, accepted each chal enge, with the knowledge that he could not be kil ed. Because she would not al ow it.

Morrígan fulfil ed her end of their bargain with enthusiasm. The name of Cúchulainn became feared and revered throughout the Celtic world. He was a walking legend. He was everything she had promised, and more.

As for herself, Morrígan found the time she spent with him to be the most pleasurable moments of her entire existence. With him she was not a goddess of war, she was not a harbinger of death, she was simply the woman he loved. And love her he did, with wild abandon. When he slid the clothes from her body, al her cares, al her worries, went with them and for those brief hours time stood stil .

But it wasn’t only their physical relationship that she enjoyed. Often she would take him into Faerie for an hour or two and they would spar in the meadow, the great warrior against the goddess of war. Sometimes she would even let him win. And after they laid down their swords they talked of the great battles of the past, battles that she had seen and that he was eager to learn from. It was his companionship that Morrígan valued above al else. Friends were not a luxury one often found in the pantheon.

It was perfect, perhaps too perfect to last. Every war has a turning point and Morrígan clearly remembered theirs – that one moment when you realize that nothing wil ever be the same again.

Cul en had just returned from the festival of Imbolc when Morrígan came to him unexpectedly.

There was no impending battle, no pressing reason that he needed the strength her blood provided. She simply wanted to see him, wanted to erase from her mind the memory of Dagda’s hands on her as they performed the ritual that would usher in the spring. Unfortunately, she could not as easily erase the evidence of the event from her body.

Cul en was trailing kisses up the inside of her thigh when he noticed the bruises. He paused and then slowly sat up, reaching one hand out to tentatively touch her skin. He laid his palm on her thigh, his fingertips covering each of the five purple marks.

“Who has touched you?” he whispered harshly.

She sat up, noticing for the first time the bruises Dagda’s hands had made upon her thighs.

Morrígan was immortal but Dagda was a king among the gods. She could not immediately heal the damage he inflicted, as she could any other wound.

“Dagda is a beast,” she said, her disgust evident in her voice. “Let’s not think of him, my love. In fact, I was rather hoping you would help me forget.”

Morrígan reached for him but Cul en pul ed away, staring at her in horror. She would remember the expression on his face for al eternity. It was the moment when everything changed.

“You let him make love to you?” he asked incredulously.

“Wel , I would hardly cal it making love,” she replied. “And it isn’t as though I had any say in the matter. It is my duty and it must be done. Surely you know that, Cul en.” He shook his head. “I just thought of it as a legend, a story like so many others. I never thought . .

.” His words grew softer but his eyes grew harder as he regarded her. “I never thought that you would betray our love.”

Morrígan leaped from the bed. “I have done nothing of the sort!” she snapped, her temper rising.

“I am a goddess, Cul en, and you cannot hold me to the same morals as your simpering human women. The rituals must be performed. Would you rather I hadn’t done it? Would you rather live in eternal winter until every man, woman and child in Eire dies of starvation because the crops cannot grow? That is the price of my fidelity, Cul en. Would you pay it to serve nothing more than your vanity?”

He looked away, having no answer to such a question.

“I thought not,” she said coldly. “I do what I must, Cul en. It does not touch what you and I have. If you throw away what we have because you cannot accept that, then you are a fool.” She waited for him to say something, anything, but he did not. Feeling as though he had driven the Sword of Nuada through her heart, she vanished in a blinding flash of light.

Eight

After that Cul en began taking human lovers. Morrígan told herself that was how it should be. After al , she would have him for eternity. It would be selfish of her to deny him the experience of a human life and al that it entailed. But no matter how she rationalized it, it stil hurt. She stil went to him; she had to. He needed her blood to fulfil their bargain and she would not al ow al her plans to be ruined because she had been foolish enough to lose her heart to a human.

Sometimes she came to him at night while he slept, giving him her blood without ever waking him. And sometimes she came to him as she had before, simply because she missed the feel of his hands on her skin. He never again mentioned Dagda and she steadfastly refused to acknowledge the presence of any other woman in his life. They would make love and then spend hours afterwards, talking and laughing. In time it was almost as it had been before. Almost.

Things had changed between them and Morrígan could not pretend otherwise. It was as though al that resentment and doubt was a black cloud hovering just outside, pushing at the door, looking for any crack it could use to seep back in. And then one night Cul en opened the door and the black cloud rushed in, engulfing them both.

She was lying in his arms, content and happy, when he suddenly announced, “I’m getting married, Morrígan.”

She went very stil , a coldness washing over her. “Is this your idea of vengeance?” she asked calmly.

“Of course not,” he replied, genuinely shocked. “Why would you say such a thing?” Morrígan sat up and looked down at him. “What else am I to think, Cul en?”

“That I want children,” he said. “Legitimate children to bear my name. The men I lead, every day I watch them teach their sons to shoot a bow or wield a sword. I want to hold a child of mine in my arms, Morrígan. Emer can give me that. She’s a good woman.”

“Then I wish you the best,” Morrígan said harshly and pushed away from him.

Cul en grabbed her wrist. “She’s a good woman, but she isn’t you. No one wil ever replace you in my heart, Morrígan. This doesn’t touch what we have, were those not your words?”

“That was different,” she snapped, jerking her hand from his grasp.

“How is this any different than you lying with Dagda?” he demanded. “It is a means to an end, is it not?”

“The difference is that I do not wil ingly choose to be with him. You have a choice.” She laughed harshly as she slid her cloak on. “Think what you like of me, Cul en, but you, with your wife and your string of harlots, have betrayed me far worse than I ever did you.” She turned and looked down at him with cold disdain. “Goodbye, Cul en, you wil not see me again until it is time for you to fulfil your end of our bargain.”

Before he could reply Morrígan was back in Faerie, as far away from him as she could get. And even there she could hear him cal ing her name. Furious, she stomped through her castle, breaking anything that had the misfortune of being near to hand. When the novelty of that wore off she became tempted to cross the Veil again. A good war would be a perfect outlet for her anger.

Queen Medb of Connacht was always good for a slaughter or two.

Morrígan sighed and sank down at the foot of the grand staircase. It was her own fault for believing in him. Was anything he’d ever said to her true? Or was it simply a means to an end, as he’d put it? Keep the goddess happy and she’l give you anything you want.

Morrígan put her head in her hands. Getting involved with a human had been a grave mistake. It wasn’t jealousy she felt for his future bride, or for any of the women he’d lain with. She was a goddess and no mortal female would ever threaten her vanity. No, what she felt was a deep sense of resentment that, by the very fact that they walked with him in the human world, they would always have a piece of him that she could not touch. That was the price the gods paid for dal ying with mortals.

But he would not be mortal forever. He would stil be with her when these humans were nothing more than dust and bone. She should swal ow her pride and forgive him. She could afford to be magnanimous.

Morrígan, however, was a war goddess and a generous nature had never been one of her virtues.

Nine

Over the fol owing years Morrígan became quite adept at avoiding Cul en. He stil cal ed to her on occasion but she resolutely ignored his summons. When he had need of her blood she would enter the castle disguised as a servant and slip it into his goblet, leaving quickly before she succumbed to the urge to eviscerate Emer on sight. Indeed, Morrígan had not set eyes on Cul en in years, not until the night she discovered that Queen Medb had convinced the sons of Calatin –

dark mages the lot of them – to forge a mystical spear capable of kil ing Cúchulainn. He could not ride against Medb’s army, for Morrígan wasn’t certain she had the power to save him from such a weapon.

She found him alone in the stables, preparing his chariot for the coming battle. The sight of him made her steps falter and her heart race. His body, once lean and rangy, had fil ed out into a solidly muscled frame her fingers itched to touch. The boyish beauty of his face now held a rugged masculinity that was breathtaking to behold. If she could have created the perfect man, she could not have done better than the one standing before her.

Walk away
, her conscience told her.
Find another warrior, for this one will only bring you pain
.

She could release him from their bargain. She could choose another to lead her army, someone for whom she had no tender feelings. She could do things differently the next time. She could . . .

not. He was hers and she would never let him go.

“Cul en,” she said softly.

He was crouched down, one hand braced on the wheel of his chariot, inspecting the axle. She saw his body stiffen and his knuckles turn white. Slowly he stood and, almost reluctantly, he turned his gaze to her. She walked forwards, watching him watch her. She could see the desire in his eyes and for a moment she could not remember what could have been important enough to drive them apart.

He had a bit of straw in his hair and she reached up to pul it free. Before she could touch him, his hand clamped around her wrist and his expression grew cold and hard. She sighed.
That
she remembered al too wel .

“Why are you here, Morrígan?” he demanded.

“It is time,” she replied simply.

“Time for what?”

“For you to fulfil your end of our bargain.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, not comprehending her words. And then a look of understanding crossed his face, fol owed closely by fear and anger.

“How dare you?” he railed. “How dared you abandon me and then come here and tel me this?

You promised—”

“I promised to make you into the greatest warrior not only of
your
time but of
any
time. And in return you promised yourself to me at the end of your life. You never asked when the end would come, Cul en.”

“That is unfair, Morrígan,” he accused. “How could I have expected it would be when I was merely thirty-five?”

She looked closely at him. “Thirty-five? Truly? You look so much younger.” It must be the immortal blood in his veins, she thought. Interesting.

“What has that to do with anything?” he snapped, dragging her thoughts back to the issue at hand.

“It has everything to do with everything,” Morrígan replied. “I need a warrior in his prime, Cul en. If you were to live to be a wizened old man, you would be of no use to me. I do not have the power to turn back time.”

“I would be young again when I enter the Summerlands,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but once you are there I can never bring you back to the human world. I must take you quickly between your death and the afterlife, Cul en. I must turn you into something dead but living, something more than human but not yet a god, something that wil confuse the magic that pul s a soul into the Summerlands. It is the only way for you to remain here.” He scowled at her. “You would make me a monster.”

“No, Cul en. I wil make you into something glorious,” Morrígan said vehemently. “I wil give you a portion of my godhood, a smal bit of my power. I wil make you young and strong and beautiful forever, just as I promised. But it must happen soon. I did not mean to spring this on you so suddenly, Cul en. When I saw you . . . wel , the years sometimes pass more quickly than I expect them to. I wil give you time to say your goodbyes and get your affairs in order, but you must fulfil your promise by Samhain.”

He looked at her and Morrígan could hardly bear the resentment shining in his eyes. This was not how she had imagined it al those years ago. She had been so certain that, when the time came, he would love her enough to come with her wil ingly.

“You said you did not come here to take me. Then why are you here?” he asked.

“I came to warn you not to ride out against Medb’s army tomorrow. The sons of Calatin, whom you slayed, have final y sought their vengeance. They have used the darkest of magics to forge an enchanted spear. If you are pierced by it, it wil kil you, Cul en. I wil gladly grant you more time, but I cannot save you if you go into battle tomorrow.”